No more needed additions
From the clock
To the crowing chickens
A season of solitude
In the farm
On the hill
Beyond the trees and
Over the lake
A need for repose
Amidst the wild life
Ahead
So to the season
To the day
A refresh is on the way
In the middle of the night
Driving through the evening
With the folding up of another day
The moon rose
So strangely
That the moon
Had become a stranger
To my own eyes
I could not understand the shape
Or form
As the night wore on
I could rub my eyes
Only to see a stranger ahead
Over the water of
Lake Michigan
Floats the sand storm
From the skeletons of summer
Other than the floats
Of May
The heights of life
Lived
In the summer breeze
With ever year
Comes a new season
Of summer
Upon our skin
The banter of feedback
From the ones who are one
The whole of the world
Focused on the same words
The same phones
The same lights
Upon the death of Coachella
Comes the highest elite to mourn
In the finest garments
With the highest followers
Draped on every word
This is not where art can live
This is where art dies
Step into the office of crusaders
Upon the light of day
For the money pushers
Know what they want
Know what they can get
It’s the power that lets
Them choose what wins
And what can lose
The waters of forbidden
Movement
Only allowed for the upper tier
So bring your finest jewelry
To setup a final loan
What they want
Is your soul to own
All else has failed
The world is simply
Upside down
Good is bad
Bad is good
All is against all
In a darkness no one
Understood
Would take us back
To a place of proclaimed hate
For those against us
And as the darkness falls all around
In the quiet
In the depths of a plane night
The wind will remember your name
In the depths of a cold winter
Off the shores of Lake Michigan
The piers of Chicago
Extend
Into the webs of ice
Blistering through the
Cracking of time
On the streets full of vibrant
Life with fires in the souls
Of everyone who knows
The days and nights
Of Chicago life
Beyond the cat tails
And deep in the forest
Thought the tees
And over the marsh
Where the wind flows
Gentle and cool
There is a place
So remote
That the wildflowers
Whisper
Quietly about the coming rains
The expectations of change
The hopes of summer and
The end of fall
I live here in my own spirit
To take the flowers words
In the hearts
Of the ones
Who take the time to
To hear it
Beyond the sunset
And before the sunset
In the depths of night
And in the rotund burst of mourning
There is a small place
Where souls
Go to rest
Beyond the mountains
And over the sea
Through the waves and beneath
The sand
Holding the light of day
And each others hand
Crisp
Clicks
Cracks and snap
Of the footsteps left
Behind
In the history
Of time
Echoed into space
Along the way
And captured in the faintest of
Sounds
But drown
In a world obsessed with motions
So we hold on
To those we love
Before our footsteps too
Will be forgotten
A Cup of Songwriting 